DAMEANE DOUGLAS hates red. He hates red uniforms, red shirts, red stripes on white helmets. This hatred is so deep he even hates the very concept of red.

The Big Game needs Dameane Douglas. It needs 20 or 30 of them, because then the Big Game might be closer to Michigan-Ohio State than it is to UC Davis-Sac State.

Granted, part of the appeal of the Big Game -- its charm, even -- is its refusal to bow to the gods of wins and losses. It endures despite 2-8s and 5-5s and the occasional 7-3. Alums still thump their chests despite the available evidence, students remain capable of using violent means, and everybody manages to care just as much the following year.

Just like Harvard-Yale, only with fewer poets.

So when they say you can throw the records out the window for this game, it's a statement born of necessity, not choice. It would be nice, just once, to keep that window closed. It would be nice, in fact, if the game meant something more than the right for one school to earn a berth in a bottom-rung bowl game.

This year, however, is more of the same. Cal has made substantial strides, and Stanford promises better in the future. A win could send Cal to a Christmas Day bowl game, and that would be a significant achievement for Tom Holmoe and his team. Still, the old adage lives to annoy another day: The records are as savory as unrefrigerated mayonnaise.

Part of the Big Game's salvation has always come in the form of individual performances. (Of course, this is the case with any game, rivalry or not, but in the interest of being suitably profound, let's all just play along. Once a year isn't too much to ask, is it?) It is here, in the area of individual achievement, where Douglas enters the picture. He is the most accomplished individual on the field. He will leave today's game with the Pac-10 single-season record for receptions; he's three shy of tying Keyshawn Johnson's record of 90.

And when he gets it, everyone will know. Starting with the defensive back who was supposed to stop him from catching the ball, Douglas is likely to embark on a verbal journey that could take him just about anywhere. This is, after all, his last game in Berkeley and possibly his last game in a Cal uniform.

"There's no telling what I might do come game time," Douglas says, laughing. "I might go talk to Tyrone Willingham. I've talked to him before, and I like him, but we've never talked on the field. Maybe I'll try that."

Douglas is loquacious and confident, al though confident doesn't begin to describe it. When it comes to believing in himself, Douglas is a zealot. A funny, good-natured zealot, but nonetheless . . .

He talked to UCLA's Cade McNown, in a friendly way, and ended up incurring the wrath of UCLA coach Bob Toledo, who cast aspersions on Douglas for catching too many short passes. He spoke at length with the Arizona sideline last Saturday, and most of the talking came while he was being held in check by the Wildcats' fine secondary. Eventually, though, his performance caught up with his words; he made a fourth-quarter catch that ranks as one of the best in college football this season.

(Although it's not considered good etiquette to criticize college players, it's impossible not to wonder what Douglas' statistics would look like if, say, McNown or Oregon's Akili Smith were throwing him the ball.)

Douglas is so involved in the talking aspect of his game that he has devised a name for it: He calls himself a "conversator" and says, "If you see me out there conversating, that's when I'm having fun. That's how I get myself going."

Douglas hasn't had much room to conversate when the subject is Stanford. His class has never beaten the Cardinal. He was a redshirt the last time Cal won, and he says this game is all about "getting our respect." That's why it comes as such a surprise that Dameane Douglas is not interested in conversating on the outcome of today's game.

"I kind of learned in high school to keep it cool," he says. Turns out there was a prediction that went awry in the big Hanford-Golden West game during Douglas' senior year at Hanford. It was, he says, his last prediction.

"I said some things I shouldn't have said," he says. "I gave them some bulletin-board material, and they used it. That was the first time I realized how powerful words can be."

This is stunning news. A prediction? None. Willingness to take the bait? None. Amazingly, the man who throws the words out in order to go chasing them down the field can't bring himself to toss out a score.

"I've learned to keep stuff like that cool," he says. "I see Stanford as a team with a lot of young athletes who have trouble executing for four quarters. At any time, they could put it together."

Wow. If we wanted Lou Holtz we would have called Lou Holtz. Douglas is informed, jokingly, that more is expected of him. He laughs.

"I'm not giving them any locker- room material," he says. "I will say there's not much I like about Stanford. I don't like that color, that's for sure. That's definitely something you grow to dislike."

Douglas is sorry to disappoint, but he promises he'll put on a good show. "We need to get it done on the field," he says. So if you watch, you'll see him. And if you're close enough, you'll hear him. That much he guarantees.